


Fallen Heroes

by orphan_account



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Smut, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5066281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU  one shot where Eddie shot Eobard, but the singularity still happened. Barry went up into it and never came back out. A few months later, when Eddie is working a case in Keystone, he get's a surprise visit from Barry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen Heroes

The motel room is too empty and, like some cosmic joke, Eddie's ended up in one with two beds.

It might even be his own fault, he can't remember for the life of him if he asked for a single or not. So he ends up sleeping in broken snatches of time, and he thinks maybe he's  _more_  tired every time he wakes up and stares across the darkness at the empty bed. Until he rolls over, only that's worse because now he can't see. 

"Screw it." He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. "I'm sorry ok, I'm sorry for everything, what the hell do you want from me?"

The room doesn't have an answer for him.

Sleep fights him for a long time, but Eddie's not used to taking no for an answer.

The next thing he feels is warmth, and Eddie knows the soft, almost too intimate, slide of skin on skin well enough to know that this dream he won't mind. Because that's exactly what Eddie wants for a while, not corpses and blood, and not the sight of Eobard's face rotting away from the inside.

He wants skin, he wants to burn every other image out of his head, he wants to sweat against someone else, push them open and slide inside and not think for a while. He winds an arm around a waist, finds it too solid and too heavy to be a woman, chest flat in the wrong places and when the weight and the warmth shifts, there's a soft press of cock against his own, which gives a more than interested twitch.

He opens his eyes.

"Barry?" There's a heavy spike of lust to go with the name and Eddie thinks maybe, just maybe, the universe doesn't hate him after all. He tips Barry's face down until he finds the warmth of his breath and kisses him. After a beat Barry kisses him back, a slow almost uncertain mirror of Eddie's own movements. There are hands on his waist, but they're stronger than they should be, and the quick clench of fingers is hard enough to tell Eddie that he's not dreaming - he's not dreaming.

He shoves at the sheets, at the warm edge of Barry's bare chest, shoulders smacking the headboard into the wall with a bang.

"Jesus, Barry, what are you doing? What the fuck are you doing?" He doesn't understand, not one little bit, because if this is a joke, it's a cruel one. 

But it's Barry, there's no question that it's Barry, and he doesn't make jokes.

"What the hell?" He demands again. But Barry doesn't move, he doesn't speak. He just looks at him, like Eddie's the one who's done something wrong. Like he's the one who's somewhere he shouldn't be. It makes him wonder if Barry's seen everything inside his head, seen the way Eddie thinks about him, seen what's underneath all the anger and the pushing and the bitterness. To where Barry is sometimes the only thing that keeps him sane in the middle of the night. He wonders if he's seen that. But that still doesn't answer the  _why._

"You shouldn't be here." Eddie's voice is a hushed tangle of sound, which lodges in his throat when Barry moves, bare thighs opening around his own when he wordlessly reclaims his space. And Eddie doesn't stop him. He lifts a hand, as if he's going to push him away again, then does nothing with it, doesn't even lay it against skin.

Barry leans forward, hand spread open on Eddie's chest, burning hot and then pressing down, taking Barry's weight when he drifts closer in the dark. He lays his mouth against Barry's and then sways back.

"You can't just do this, you can't."

Barry slides a hand down and touches him, fingers already slippery and just a fraction too tight, they move on him, and he hardens in Barry's hand, every one of his protests falling to pieces. It's been far too long since anyone touched him, since anyone just pressed into his skin and touched him and demanded nothing.

He's been on the edge for so long and the fact that it's  _Barry_ , he doesn't have it in him any more to say no to that. Even if he doesn't know why. The breath stutters out of him and when Barry leans down to kiss him he kisses him back, opens his mouth to the hard, almost angry press and push, to the fierce slide of tongue, and takes it all. Eddie's hand opens on his back pulls him down until he's folded over him. Until he can feel the half hard push of Barry's own cock, and the way his hand moves on him in slow warm slides that leave Eddie useless to do anything but breathe encouragement and wonder why.

When his hand slides up to hold the back of Barry's neck he finds the warmth of old cord. Barry is wearing his amulet, the small dark shape pressed between them, and Eddie can't do anything but slide his other hand up and touch it for a long moment.

He remembers telling Barry not to lose it when he first gave it to him.

Maybe he's making sure that he doesn't.

But seeing it there is - he looks away.

"Maybe this isn't even real," Eddie hisses desperately into his mouth, voice shaking out, messy and unsteady, hips trying to push himself up through Barry's fist. "You can't do this, you  _wouldn't_  do this."

He can almost hear Barry's voice asking if that makes it better, if that makes it easier. Before he's breathing into Eddie's mouth and then kissing him again, rough kisses, desperate enough that skill doesn't matter, and Eddie wants to stop his hands from finding the warm depths of Barry's hair but they're already there.

Barry pulls a little against his grip, not trying to get away, almost like he's testing Eddie's boundaries, his weakness. The fierce bitter edge feels like punishment.

It's Eddie's fault that he wants this, that his feelings for Barry are tangled up so hard that anger and hope has somehow become this, weak and reckless and completely human. But he never meant to drag Barry down with him. Barry was always supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be above the bitterness and the betrayal and the darkness-

He eases them up, just a little, dragging the rest of the sheet away, throwing it aside so he can see, so he can see every inch of the naked speedster in his bed. Because if he's going to do this then he wants everything. If he's going to do something he's ashamed of then he's going to take it all.

Barry stretches, like he knows what Eddie wants, bares himself without shame, the length of his chest and his slender arms, the soft line of his stomach and the hard curve of him where he needs, or at least his body does, as badly as Eddie. But there's something in his face that's tight, that's hurt almost.

"Jesus," Eddie says breathlessly, because he doesn't know how to say anything else.

Barry's hand twists, lazy and curious, he slides a thumb experimentally over the head of Eddie's cock. It's a wet spike of sensation that has him pushing his hand into Barry's hair, trying to pull him back, to find his mouth and own it again. But Barry resists, mouth sliding across his jaw instead, like he's determined to find out what Eddie tastes like, teeth a threat on the edge put never pressed in, never dragged over his skin. His breath is hot against the side of his face, he doesn’t speak, he doesn't say a single word, and Eddie doesn't know if that makes it easier. He doesn't know if that absolves him in some way, if it saves him from admitting how much he wants this. Wants what he's fairly sure is one of the wrongest things he's ever wanted.

His hands are too tight, folded and then sliding up Barry's thighs, catching every shifting slender line, pressed in where muscle moves, trying to press bruises into impossible skin.

Though Eddie thinks maybe this is worse than bruising him. That maybe it was his job to stop this and he couldn't - he can't.

That all he does is fail Barry when he needs him.

Barry's other hand slides down, traces every line of him, round the curve of his hip and down his thigh, holds the tight heaviness of his balls, then slides over his own hand.

Until Eddie can't take it, can't take any of it.

He thinks he should beg him to stop.

If he was a better man, he would.

"Barr," he lifts a hand pulls him in, pulls his head down and finds his mouth again in the dark, he's too greedy for finesse, drawing back every second to breathe and shudder under the relentless slide of his hand. Until Barry's mouth is wet, a foreign drag of stubble against his own, heat and something hard enough to be anger, and the slow, even flare of his breath. "Barr, please."

Eddie's amulet drags against his skin from the other side, small and warm from the heat of Barry's skin. Until Barry pulls back, slips through his fingers. He shifts his knees up, hand stilling and then falling away. When his hand returns, curls round him, it angles Eddie’s cock to position, one of Barry's thighs shifting forward to make room, and even though Eddie knows what he's going to do he still can't quite believe it. Until Barry tilts his hips forward and lets the head of Eddie's cock push into him.

"Fuck." It's a fire of tightness and heat that steals his breath and leaves a groan shaking out of him. That one push is so much. Need layered over wrong and Eddie wants it so badly it hurts. Barry slides down onto him in one graceful movement, like he's done this before. Though the soft, almost stunned, noise he makes says differently. The way he eases down, like every sensation is new, every push and stretch, and even the way his thighs open, slowly, uncertainly.

Eddie's next breath slams out of him in one greedy noise, and there's no way he can stop, no way he can look away from the barely there movement of Barry's hips. His hands slide from his thighs to the bare curves of them, fights the urge to pull, to own that line of muscle and flesh that's joined them together. His cock is a solid throb of need that makes him want to push up, to push in, fierce and urgent. But instead his fingers just hold Barry's waist, like he might break apart. Barry is pressed all the way down onto him, breathing quick little breaths, eyes half shut, hands sliding on Eddie's chest, then pressing in when he lifts, cautiously, carefully, and pushes back down.

Eddie knows exactly how this ends, with Barry a little more broken and a little less clean.

He breathes Barry's name, almost against his will.

Barry's hands hit the wall, a crack of sound in the dark. He leans into it, and the new shift and tilt of his hips leaves Eddie gasping, hands finding his waist, letting it move through his hands in quick needy shoves.

Eddie's own amulet sways over his face, a glint in the darkness.

He honestly doesn't know if Barry is punishing him, or if he's punishing himself.

He thinks it's meant to hurt either way.

But it doesn't feel like anger any more. Though there's a reckless roughness to the speedster. Barry still pushes into his hands like he wants him, he accepts every kiss that Eddie leaves against his open mouth, then follows him in mute demand for more.

Eddie doesn't even know if Barry's supposed to feel or not, if he's supposed to be this real, but his skin is damp under his fingers, warm and shaking and tightening under every slow movement. Like he's straining for the edge but he isn't sure how to reach it. Eddie's fingers catch at his waist and hips, teeth biting the soft skin of his throat, before his mouth trails up in a line of heat and want to whisper obscenities in his ear.

Because he's so close, so fucking close.

Because he doesn't want to hurt Barry. He never did.

"You can't let me do this," Eddie hisses desperately, when he doesn't want anything else. When all he wants is Barry, close and hot and all around him and  _right here._

Barry's quiet noises sound like panic. Like he doesn't know what he's doing but he's gone too far, much too far to stop.

"Let me touch you," Eddie whispers against the edge of his throat and his voice comes out so raw, so desperate.

Barry's answering moan is soft but needy.

Eddie licks his own hand, reaches out and curls his fingers around him, finds him hot and so hard it has to be a long low ache for him now. Barry's eyes fall shut and his hips stutter, stop on a gasp of air and then start again, he's trying to follow both sensations now, rhythm gone to pieces, mouth open. One hand braced on Eddie's chest the other holding the long line of his forearm, fingers gripped deep enough to hurt.

But Eddie doesn't stop, he watches the speedster come apart on top of him and doesn't, for one fucking moment, feel ashamed.

Barry makes a sound, low in his throat, and comes. Eddie feels the release hit his chest in the dark, feels the tight clench of Barry and it's that sensation that drags him over the edge, holding him so hard that every shudder shakes them both.

Barry is finally breathing hard, quiet and slow, folded over him away from his gaze, the last tiny aftershocks of pleasure making his skin twitch and shiver.

The quiet noises he makes sound completely lost.

Eddie thinks they've taken everything from each other, but somehow they still need each other.

"Barr?" Eddie pulls himself all the way up, puts his hands on Barry, and when he doesn't pull away he finds the back of his neck and pulls him all the way in.

"Eddie," Barry's voice is low and deep, lost somewhere underneath his ear and Eddie breathes strange relief at the word. There's a question there, one he doesn't know how to answer.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, voice just a breath against Barry's skin. "I'm sorry about everything. I'd take it back if I could, I'd fix it if I could, Barr-"

Barry moves enough to press a finger over his mouth, stopping the fall of words.

"I forgive you."


End file.
